


and you're in love with all the wonder it brings

by jugheadjones



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Camping, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 17:02:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29720406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jugheadjones/pseuds/jugheadjones
Summary: One of Fred and FP's endless camping trips.
Relationships: Fred Andrews/FP Jones II
Comments: 7
Kudos: 10





	and you're in love with all the wonder it brings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bisexualfpjones](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisexualfpjones/gifts).



> this is just a little drabble that got away from me - it was supposed to be brianas birthday present 1000 months ago so happy st patricks day i guess!

“WOAHH, WE’RE HALFWAY THERE, WOAH! LIVING ON A PRAYER!” 

Sunlight punched the glass of the van’s front window, filling the driver and passenger seats with a flood of yellow light. It lit up the badly cracked upholstery, the crumpled residue of the lives of its teenage occupants - discarded baseball gear, school books, the wad of fast food napkins that had taken up permanent residence in the cupholder - and caressed the smattering of golden hairs that ran the length of the driver’s suntanned arm. 

Fred, in sunglasses and a baseball cap, turned to his passenger, raising his voice as though the additional volume would coax his passenger to sing along. 

“TAKE MY HAND - WE’LL MAKE IT I SWEAR, WO-AHH! LIVIN’ ON A PRAYER!” 

The van rocketed around a curve in the isolated rural road without slowing down. Above them, a ride of pine trees decorated a rock face embedded here and there with yellow signs - NO HUNTING, WATCH FOR FALLING ROCK, PRIVATE PROPERTY. The sky above the treeline was a peaceful, summertime blue, a few cottony clouds hanging among the bright yellow bulb of the sun. FP held subtly onto the edges of the seat - Fred had a heavy foot when it came to the gas pedal, especially when the volume on the radio was turned up to eleven. Especially on empty roads like this one, when he’d already had two coffees and was in the kind of giddy mood that only came upon him in July and August. 

“Don’t crash,” FP warned dryly, and Fred took both hands playfully off the wheel. 

“Look, no hands.” 

FP reached for the wheel, but Fred laughed and slapped his hands back down. He turned to look at FP out of the side of his sunglasses before turning the volume of the radio slightly down. “What’s with you? You should be psyched, dude! Three days of nothing but getting back to nature. We’re going to be free, dude. Liberated.” Fred beat optimistically at his thin chest with one hand, steering their VW bus effortlessly around the curve with another. 

FP had to crack a smile at this particular brand of flower-child optimism. He turned away so that he was looking out the window. 

“I just don’t do well in the water, I told you.” 

FP had been on board with a three-day camping trip before Fred had started rapping about turning it into some kind of canoe voyage. To hear him talk, all the men in the Andrews family were canoe fanatics, and camping somewhere only accessible by canoe was a rite of passage somehow. FP could camp no problem - he got thrown out of the house enough that sleeping on the ground in abysmal weather conditions came easy - but he didn’t know the first thing about boating. He didn’t want to look like an idiot in front of Fred. Even if he knew Fred wouldn’t hold it against him, would probably be all kinds of patient and understanding like he always was. 

They’d done facsimiles of camping before - crashing in the van at a venue before a concert, or driving out to the woods to build a fire and spending the night - but Fred had the idea that this trip was going to be the best yet, and FP didn’t want to mess it up. 

“I promise on my life we won’t capsize.” Fred took a hand off the wheel yet again to plant it earnestly on his chest. “You’ll stay nice and dry. Scout’s honour.” 

FP smiled faintly, remembering the few things Fred had told him about his early years scouting with Hal Cooper - apparently, a younger Fred was too preoccupied with telling ghost stories and sneaking down to the girl’s camp at night to earn many merit badges. But he couldn’t shake the uncomfortable reminder that they were setting off alone on a body of very ominous water. FP didn’t swim well. Never had, ever since his old man had decided to teach him by tossing him into the deep end of their disgusting trailer park pool at age four. If he was completely honest about it, being on the water kind of scared him half to death. 

So what the hell was he doing barrelling down a mountainside towards three days on a lake? Good question. 

The sun shafted through their van window onto Fred’s cheeks, and Fred’s face lit up with it when they came around a curve, passing a sign for RIVERDALE STATE PARK. In a few moments, they’d turned onto a thin dirt road that wound through an expanse of woods and let out in a wide, nondescript parking lot. Fred cut across this lot at an angle and backed the car down to a gravel boat launch where a pair of burly guys were backing a pickup truck into the water. A third guy was up to his knees in the lake, attaching a motorboat to the mount on the back of the truck. 

FP’s stomach clenched uncertainly at the sight of the lake. He could see an opposite bank from where the boat launch was - but beyond that strip of land it widened out to only horizon, a clear blue sky that connected almost imperceptibly with the blue water. It _was_ beautiful - there were even a few colourful cottages and flags soaring from flagpoles on the bank opposite - but it was a whole lot of water and not a lot of dry land. 

A thud from the side of the van shook FP out of his reverie. Fred was already out, leaving the driver’s door hanging wide open, undoing the straps that Oscar had helped them tie in the Andrews driveway that lashed the Andrews family canoe to the top of their van. FP stepped out onto the sharp gravel and shielded his eyes. Fred, always the hippie, was barefoot on the rocky ground, his face already radiant with excitement. 

FP helped him remove the straps, and they heaved the canoe down. The canoe was wooden and heavy, probably a relic from as far back as the Andrews clan could remember. Fred unburdened the van of their bedrolls and supplies, making a neat stack at the edge of the road. 

“I gotta go park the van in the lot. Back in a jiff,” said Fred, and plopped a life vest over FP’s head. He handed him both canoe paddles and skipped back to the van, the sunlight winking off the keyring. This left FP standing next to the burly guys with a canoe paddle in each of his hands, feeling completely out of place. He started when one of them waved at him as they piled into their truck, but relaxed when the truck began to roll back up the dirt road, the quickly-drying motorboat on a trailer behind it. People were friendlier up in the country, Fred had said fondly as they were driving, and apparently, this was true. 

Fred came charging back down the rocky path minutes later, still barefoot. He beamed at FP and picked up the front end of the canoe, grabbing one of the paddles from under his friend’s armpit. 

“Let’s haul out.” 

“Our stuff?” FP asked dubiously, regarding the bedrolls and the six-pack of beer Fred had bullied Oscar into gifting them. 

“We gotta get this beast in the water first. We’ll never be able to lift it with all our stuff in there.” 

Obedient, FP picked up the other end of the red wooden canoe and they walked it the few feet down to the launch, following the tire tracks of the departed truck. Fred walked fearlessly into the water in his bare feet, grinning as they guided the nose of the canoe just into the lake. 

“Ok, that’ll do. Let’s get our junk.” 

They wrapped their bedrolls in garbage bags and piled them in the centre of the canoe. The six-pack went on top, cradled by the bag containing the tent and Fred’s backpack. Fred put FP’s life jacket on for him, and yanked the straps so tightly that FP felt briefly suffocated. 

“And we’re off!” Fred shrugged into his own life jacket, tightening the straps with ease. He danced down to the water and held the canoe by its edge. “Get in front.” 

“I ride in front?” Fred’s infectious happiness was impossible to avoid outright, but FP was still squirming. It was all happening very fast. “You ride in front. It’s your canoe.” 

Fred shook his head. “The more experienced person goes at the back.” 

“But I won’t be able to see you,” FP protested. 

“You’ll see the water. Best seat in the house.” 

Exactly what he was afraid of. FP waded up to mid-calf and stood on the opposite side of the canoe, looking dubiously at the narrow plank of wood that Fred had optimistically called a seat. The canoe bobbed gently in the waves created by another motorboat far off on the lake. 

“I’m holding it steady,” said Fred gently, planting a hand on each side of the canoe. “You can step right in.” 

FP fought back the urge to argue that the canoe was two times Fred’s weight, at least, and who did he think he was to say he could hold it. Something about Fred being there made him brave. He held onto the sides and lifted one wet foot cautiously into the front, cringing as he stepped in completely. The boat bobbed sharply downward but didn’t capsize. FP opened his eyes to see the lake stretching out ahead of him. Somehow, miraculously, his ass was on the seat and his feet were in the boat and it was still upright. An odd surge of confidence passed through him. Maybe this boating thing _was_ easy, after all. 

“Nothing to it,” said Fred. He passed him a paddle, which FP laid cautiously across his lap the way he’d glimpsed in one of the zillion outdoor magazines stacked in Fred’s bedroom. Fred moved to the rear of the canoe, and discomfort moved in sharply when FP realized he wasn’t able to see his friend at all. 

The canoe bobbed sharply, and he heard Fred splash his way into the second seat at the back. The bottom of the boat bumped against the shore as a slight wave carried them back into the boat launch, and FP cringed. He heard Fred’s paddle scrape against the pebbly ground, righting them and pointing the prow out of the boat back at the lake. 

“You ready? You wanna paddle on the left or right?” 

“Whatever you want.” FP twisted around and was immediately calmed by the sight of Fred sitting behind him, his jean shorts damp and a huge grin on his cheeks, a smear of sunscreen white on the side of his nose. FP slid his paddle tentatively into the water, suddenly mesmerized by what he could briefly see at the bottom before silt stirred up to obscure it - there had been the quick dart of a tiny fish and the rays of sunlight had been passing in a lovely way through the green plants growing there. When he looked back up, Fred was regarding him with a gentleness that was almost excruciatingly lovely to look at. For a moment he wished he could take a picture and remember it, forgetting that they were currently untethered in a rickety wooden deathtrap on bare water and just admiring Fred’s sunlit face. Then Fred slapped a baseball cap purposefully onto his hair and let out a whoop. 

“Let’s ride,” he declared, and shoved the paddle into the water, pushing them triumphantly off from the bank and the reassuring safety of dry land. 

* * *

They paddled for an hour through the glass-clear water, meeting only the occasional small swell generated by the cottager’s motorboats, and then nothing at all as they moved past the inhabited land and out into the open lake. The boat slid easily forward through the mirrored water, the sun filling the surface and slanting in rays through the shallows. FP’s paddling was clumsy, his hands quickly growing sore on the unfamiliar wood, but Fred kept them on some sort of course from the back, pulling and pushing the water to move the canoe easily across the lake. They talked aimlessly, and occasionally Fred would break into some kind of rowing song, which distracted FP nicely from his mortal terror of the way the boat was sliding beneath him through the deep water. 

He was grateful the lake wasn’t choppy, but the stillness of it seemed to emphasize how much of it there was, a blue-green mirror that expanded far into the horizon in every direction. The surrounding land - mostly deep green fir trees dotted with log cabins and wide cliffs of sunbaked rock - seemed very far away. FP had his life jacket on, but he also had exactly one swimming lesson with Fred Andrews under his belt and a pathological fear of deep water. This was a big lake, and as calm as the yellow-green water seemed on the surface, it was deep. 

Looking down into the dark depths made him leery, so he kept his eyes upward: the sky domed clear and blue and wonderful over their heads, with no promise of wind or rain. FP had ignored Fred’s warnings to bring a hat and wear sunscreen, but was beginning to be grateful that Fred had smeared it on his face for him anyway - the sun was a fierce yellow ball in the middle of the uninterrupted sky, and his uncovered ears were already beginning to tingle. 

For the first leg of the trip, FP had been terrified they were simply going to vanish out into the open water forever - the lake had seemed to stretch off into infinity with no other land in sight. His ass was also going to sleep from sitting on this plank of hot wood, and pins and needles were creeping down his leg muscles at random intervals. So he felt a warm relief when Fred’s voice sounded from behind him, as collected and cheerful as he’d been in the car. 

“I think we’re close to our first campsite.” There was a rustle that must have been a map being unfolded across his friend’s knees. “It’s best not to go too far on the first day. It’ll keep us fresh for tomorrow. And this way we have some time to swim before dinner.” 

FP looked uncertainly over his shoulder, his stomach lurching as the boat tipped slightly to one side. He thought of ending up in the cold green lake water and shuddered. Fred had the map spread out across his knees, the paddle balanced nonchalantly in his lap. 

“Look!” Fred yelped suddenly, pointing ahead of them. FP turned back around as quickly as he dared and saw a small patch of disturbed water ahead of them, where ripples were ringing out from the centre as though a stone had been tossed. 

“It was a loon,” Fred’s voice explained patiently from behind him. “Watch, it’ll come back up.” 

They waited, the canoe quiet in the still water. Then, some distance ahead of them, a black bird spotted with white popped up out of the lake. It was too far away for FP to see clearly, but he could tell immediately that it was something he’d never seen before. The bird floated gently in the water for a few moments before ducking back under again. This time it came up on the far side of their canoe, tiny now with the distance, moving back in the direction from which they’d come. 

“We’ll hear them tonight,” Fred said, his eyes on the bird. “Don’t get spooked if you do. They’re beautiful, but they sound so lonely after dark.” 

FP was quiet. Suddenly it struck him how quiet everything was: there were no more traffic sounds from the winding road they’d followed to get here, no motorboats from the cottages and their many docks. He had been too nervous to soak it in, but now he was realizing this was the purest form of nature he’d possibly ever experienced: the occasional birdsong, the lapping water, and nothing more. Just their breathing and water dripping from their paddles. 

Maybe it was the tiredness or the rowing using muscles he didn’t know he had, but he felt a strange, calming lethargy take hold of him. He briefly forgot his fear of water as his memories of everything ahead of the car journey fell away - the trailer park, their school, even the gas station they’d stopped at for coffee this morning felt paltry and insignificant, relics of another world. Diamonds of sunlight glittered off the lake into his eyes. 

“We’re making good time,” Fred said cheerfully. His eyes were on the sky rather than a watch, but FP didn’t think to question the assertion. “Boy, this weather is amazing! We can just drift and talk for a bit if you want.” 

“That’s okay,” said FP, picking up his paddle with a strange, renewed courage. “We can keep going.” 

Fred’s delighted smile was all the reward he needed. 

* * *

They did talk as they rowed: the kind of meaningless, lovely, circuitous talk they hadn’t enjoyed since they were kids. They talked very little about classes and school, even less about girls, which FP found oddly thrilling. Instead, they pointed out things they saw along the way - a downed branch speckled with odd white birds, a kite trapped in a massive fir tree, a rock face that Fred asserted would make an exhilarating cliff jump. They waved at the few other paddlers they came across. They talked about baseball, swapped stories from childhood, asked questions of the universe. FP wouldn’t remember the next day what they’d discussed, exactly, but he found himself speaking unselfconsciously in a way he’d never done before. 

His newfound energy didn’t last long. FP’s palms were starting to blister from the unforgiving wood of the canoe paddle (Oscar’s name was clumsily carved into the handle, just below the hilt) and the numbness in his tailbone had given way to real discomfort. His arms ached mildly, but he felt a small satisfaction that every time Fred had asked if he needed a break, he’d been able to give a confident no. In pure strength, at least, he could make up for the lack of experience he had at paddling, though his worries about that were ebbing too. He had picked up the rhythm of rowing, and if he was doing something comically wrong, Fred was considerate enough not to mention it. Now there was land ahead of them again, and it seemed to be the thing they were rowing towards, so FP doubled his efforts, slicing the paddle through the water and feeling encouraged when the boat flowed faster towards the shore. 

“We’re nearly there,” Fred spoke up from behind him. His voice was accompanied by a soft trickling sound that meant he was dragging the canoe paddle through the water to steer them - FP had begun to find the noise comforting and familiar. “These campsites are amazing, I promise.” His voice was buoyant with joy. “Every year I forget how worth it this trip is.” 

The shoreline they were headed towards was a narrow strip of land that curved out from the mainland like a huge finger, an area that looked dense and uninhabitable due to the height of the rocky cliffs facing them and the opacity of the trees beyond. All of this shoreline was inaccessible by car: the lot far behind them where they’d parked their van was disconnected from these cliffs and campsites entirely. FP had no idea how Fred could be so confident that this was the right area when there was less than no signage, but he had been paddling them purposefully along with only a few glances at their map to guide his route, and FP didn’t bother to ask. 

After awhile the lake narrowed into a smaller channel, and FP began to scan the surrounding rocks for the wealth of excellent campsites Fred had promised. There was no sign of life whatsoever now: no tents, fires, roadways or vehicles. They had left the expensive-looking banks of cottages behind and were solidly in uninhabited territory - fir trees, pine trees, sheer faces of white rock, but no people. 

“We’ll land it on that little beach there, straight ahead.” 

FP looked straight ahead, but the only thing that could be conceivably referred to as a beach was a narrow strip of dirt between two of the huge rocks. A leaning tree jutted perilously out over the water, looking more ominous the closer they came. A hard push from Fred somewhere behind him sent the nose of the canoe hurtling towards a jagged-looking rock on the shore’s edge. FP squeezed his paddle tightly, braced for impact, but the boat barely bumped the rock, a few corrective strokes from Fred’s paddle bringing it up parallel with the land. Unlike the boat launch, which was a clear path down to the water, there didn’t seem to be any logical place here to get onto firm ground. 

“I’ll hold it steady, and you get out.” 

FP glanced dubiously at the side of the canoe. Fred had laid his paddle flat against one of the rocks to anchor them, but that inspired even less confidence than Fred holding the boat against the water with his skinny arms. “Get out where?” 

“Step onto the beach or one of those rocks. Or right into the water, it looks shallow here.” 

“How do I do it?” FP asked. Sitting in this canoe he could handle. Standing up in the canoe - that made his brain scream at him to stop. Fred had already given him a lesson on this topic, but it had conveniently flown out of his head when faced with the real thing. 

“Carefully get up to a crouch, and then step one leg out, and then the other. Real easy. I’ve got the boat, don’t worry.” 

Gathering his nerve, FP held both sides of the canoe and crouched, finally shoving one leg over the edge of the boat and onto the shore. He shifted his weight quickly before he could panic, and landed on his knees on one of the tall rocks. To his relief, the boat only bobbed slightly under his weight without capsizing. Fred, now left alone in the canoe, grinned at him. The boat had started to drift slightly backwards with the motion from FP, and he used his paddle to pull it up to shore again. 

“Do you need help?” FP asked. He was still crouching: his legs felt shaky and weak from sitting down for so long, but being back with solid land under his sandals was making him feel much braver. 

“Let’s unload.” Fred handed him the six-pack, and FP helped him unburden the canoe of their bedrolls and bags. Then Fred stepped into the shallow water with a splash, churning up mud and silt from the bottom so that the water turned brown around his feet. He kept one hand on the behemoth of a canoe, and FP watched in fascination as he shoved it through the water and towards the shore. The water came above his knees, lapping at the hem of his denim shorts. 

“Grab the end. We just have to pull it up until it’s out of the water.” 

Fred reached easily for the heavy boat and took hold of the back. Lifting together, they dragged it up onto the narrow strip of soil, wedging the nose between the rock and the leaning tree. Once it was completely onto the land, they turned it upside down, draining the water that had accumulated in the bottom. 

“Done!” Fred jumped up and down, clapping. “Man, this is the best!” 

FP grinned despite himself. There was something special about watching Fred like this, unburdened and free. The last two months of the sun had brought freckles out on his face and arms, and his skin was darkly tanned on his legs and chest. He’d shoved his brown hair haphazardly into a red baseball cap, and his white tank top gaped open at the arms, showing his tan. FP checked his own arms for signs of a tan but only saw faint red patches rising on his biceps, despite the sunscreen Fred had slapped on for him in the car. 

“Let’s get the tent up, and then have a snack. I’m famished. You?” Fred gave FP an impulsive hug. “You’re a star. What did I tell you about this canoe? Nothing to it.” He was out of breath, unscrewing his water bottle and taking a long swig that spilled water down his chin and stained his shirt. 

“Nothing to it,” FP repeated, watching him drink. For the first time, he was beginning to absorb Fred’s attitude that everything could and would go right. He stared up at the dense trees above them with a sharp, unfamiliar feeling of excitement, and then looked quickly back at Fred, who was pouring water over his brow. He felt himself blush and looked away. Fred, unconcerned, pushed the water bottle into his hand and demanded he drink. 

They walked up a sharp hill from where they’d wedged the canoe and stood in a small clearing, surrounded on three sides by woods. The third side was a sheer cliff face that dropped down to the water ten feet below, and the area around this cliff was laid with wide, flat white stones. Here and there scrubby bushes crept up through cracks in the stone, including one that was dotted with raspberries. For a good fifteen minutes, they wandered around the site, exploring, and Fred stripped a branch of the raspberry bush dry, feeding FP handfuls out of his pink-stained palm. Finally, he pointed out the flattest dirt area and declared it was the perfect place to pitch their tent. 

The tent came together more easily than FP had expected: they both set to assembling poles and carefully clipped the faded canvas into place. Before long the small two-man tent was standing. Crawling through the opening and tossing their bedrolls in, they unrolled their sleeping bags and lay down on their backs. The yellow points of the tent sides came together in a peak just over their heads. 

“You’ve really never done this before?” Fred asked, curling up on the bedroll and fixing FP with a pair of wide, soulful puppy-dog eyes. “I can’t believe it.” 

FP resisted the urge to tell him the closest he had ever come to camping was sleeping in a stranger’s unlocked car near Pickens Park when his dad was on the warpath. He just smiled, eyes fixed on the raspberry juice smear on Fred’s chin. “I like it already.” 

“You’ll love it,” said Fred passionately, and sprang up off the sleeping bag, suddenly full of energy. “Let’s get a snack!” 

They threw their other things into the tent and ate the bag of chips, shovelling handfuls in their mouths like wild animals. FP was ravenous after the hour of paddling - it had unlocked an insatiable hunger deep in his chest. When they had built a small circle of stones for a firepit and eaten their fill, they wandered back down to the leaning tree and the canoe so Fred could go for the swim he’d been insisting on since that morning. 

“Don’t you want to change?” FP asked as they stood at the edge of the water. 

“Why, are you shy?” Fred stripped off his shirt and then his shorts, pulling his underwear down with complete disregard for modesty. He flung himself into the water and swam several feet out from the rocks, dipping below the surface the way the loon had done. Then he swam back, his arms cutting powerfully through the water, his face turned to the sky and his hair loose and wet around his shoulders. 

FP splashed him good-naturedly for a while, and they talked for hours, Fred seemingly so at home in the water that he only pulled himself out when clouds were beginning to drift across the dimming blue sky. He’d forgotten a towel, and FP teased him good-naturedly as he stood naked and dripping over his clothes before taking mercy on him and running up to their tent. Fred gave him a soaking bear-hug when he returned with the towel, and FP shoved him back into the water. They were laughing and damp when they walked back up the hill in bare feet, Fred wrapped in his red towel and wincing when he stepped on pinecones and pine needles. 

“Let’s get a fire going before the sun goes down,” Fred spoke up, dropping his towel and changing back into his shorts and tank top out in the open. He nodded at the flat rocks above the cliff edge. “It’s going to be a gorgeous sunset from up there.” 

FP noted this absently - he found Fred’s enthusiasm for orange and purple skies infectious, though he was personally of the opinion that all sunsets looked more or less the same. They wandered through the woods for a while, picking firewood and making an impressively tall stack of branches next to the firepit. Then FP watched as Fred assembled the wood, shredding some paper from his bag in the centre and gently coaxing it to light. When it caught they fed it pine branches and kindling until the largest log was burning, sending plumes of smoke up to the still-blue sky. 

“Do you want a beer?” FP asked, angling his head towards the six-pack, but Fred shook his head. 

“Wait. I’m saving it for the perfect moment.” 

Slightly put out, FP continued feeding sticks into the fire while Fred dug into his bag and rummaged around. He emerged with two cans of beans and a pack of hot dogs, soggy from the melted ice pack that had been providing ineffective protection from the direct sun. He was juggling all this along with a disposable camera, which he aimed at FP’s back without warning, clicking the shutter. FP raised a hand in a half-hearted attempt to hide his face, but was too late. 

“It’s Oscar’s,” Fred said, as though this provided an explanation. He aimed it at the campsite and then pulled FP to him with an arm around his shoulders, holding out the camera ahead of them in an attempt to capture them both. FP laughed despite himself. 

“That went a mile wide over my shoulder, guarantee it.” 

“Fine, one more.” Grinning toothily, Fred threw his arm back around FP’s shoulders and smashed the point of his cheekbone against FP’s cheek. This time he angled the camera more widely, and FP reached out to move his hand into a more optimistic position. FP was startled by the pull he felt on his cheeks - even damp, dog-tired, filthy and starving he was beaming as unselfconsciously as a little kid at the camera. 

Fred’s energy as they sat around the fire was infectious. They talked and laughed as they wedged the cans eagerly into the bed of rocks and burnt the hot dogs over the flames, too impatient to wait for coals. Fred stood up and gestured with his hands as he told stories about camping in his childhood, flinging his hands so vigorously at one point that half his hot dog flew off into the trees. The juice from the hot dogs scalded FP’s chin, tongue and hands, and they ate messily, wiping their hands on their clothes. Twice Fred faked running to the edge of the cliff to hurl himself off, and FP pulled him back each time, his heart thudding with nerves even as he laughed. The euphoria of living through the trek across the lake was exploding out of him in an alien giddiness: his chest ached from laughing before the sun was down. 

The first streaks of orange were just beginning to touch the horizon when they finished eating. The sky was still blue, albeit cloudy, but the sun was hanging below the clouds in a bright red ball that turned Fred’s brown hair into a ginger halo. FP was focused on burning one of the marshmallows that had fallen off of their sticks into the fire, nudging it into the hotbed of coals to disintegrate. 

“You want a beer now?” Fred asked, interrupting FP’s focus. His eyes gleamed with the hint of a secret. “Moment’s coming up.” 

The drinks were warm - they carried the six-pack up the slight incline away from their tent and to the flat rocks at top of the cliff. They sat down with their faces turned to the sun, which was setting rapidly now. Despite the late hour, FP could still feel its warmth in the air. He popped open the top on his beer, and Fred knocked their drinks ceremoniously together. 

“Cheers,” he said, grinning. He nudged their bare knees together and overlapped their sunburned legs, tilting his head back to take in the sky. 

For the next twenty minutes they watched the sunset spread out over the sky and water, first a blazing yellow that caught on the underside of every cloud, deepening to a wispy orange and pink, then a vibrant palette of purples and oranges so enormous and bright that they had to squint into it. The lake was still mirror-calm, and the reflection of the sunset seemed to fill the water as well as the sky until the horizon line was almost swallowed by colour. The trees on the land surrounding them vanished into dark silhouettes against the backdrop. FP’s jaw hurt before he noticed his mouth hanging open. 

They drank their beer in comfortable silence, listening to the lake. When a far-off cry echoed out across the water, Fred pointed into the purple dusk. 

“That’s a loon. You hear?” 

FP nodded. It was a different kind of quiet from the suburbs around Fred’s house, which he had always considered quiet compared to home. When he was a kid he used to be restless during sleepovers, the absence of bikes revving and men yelling and doors slamming keeping him awake. But the world was full of sounds now: branches swaying and animals scuttling and an owl hooting and the water lapping below them. But there was no man-made noise: no cars, not even a boat. FP was overwhelmed by the perfection of it: the two of them in the fresh air under the sky, the perfect quiet that seemed to fill the world around them. The rocks were warm under his hands, as perfectly flat as if they’d been shaped for this purpose. 

“I told you,” Fred said with a knowing smile when the sunset had faded somewhat, the last of the sunlight a burning smear of dusky amber hanging below an endless purple pool. “This is the perfect moment.” 

They talked as they finished their drinks, and FP recognized an unfamiliar optimism in the things he was saying - about himself, about life, about the future. A weight seemed to have lifted somewhere in his heart, an enticing and possibly dangerous inkling of being rooted in the world for the first time. 

Night crept in slowly as the sun vanished, and coolness with it, until Fred, his skinny legs covered in goosebumps, volunteered to retrieve their sweatshirts from the tent. FP claimed he was fine, but felt secretly gratified when Fred brought his out anyway, draping it carefully over his shoulders and sitting down close enough that their arms pressed together. He had brought a lantern, which clanked against the rockface below them, but showed no sign of wanting to return to their tent. They laid back against the rock, finding grooves in which to balance their drinks, using their arms and hoodies to pillow their heads against the rock as they talked face-to-face. 

“It’s so bright,” Fred said suddenly - FP, accustomed to the presence of city streetlamps, hadn’t noticed how incongruous the visibility was. Fred jumped to his feet, energized. “Holy smokes, is that the moon? FP, look!” 

FP sat up obediently and looked around. The water was now a pure, breathing darkness, but the rocks on which they were lying and the trail back to the campsite were bathed in white light. The birch and pine trees around them were lit by a brilliant white glow, brighter than any Christmas lights he’d ever seen. It was the brightest moonlight he’d ever experienced. 

Fred stretched his arms, a thin silhouette against the rock and sky, and shoved his way through some bushes, moving slightly downward and away from the clearing towards the water. FP followed him, worried about him plunging off the cliff face in the dark, though Fred was right - the rocky cliff was lit as strongly as a football stadium, and they could see their feet easily. When Fred stopped on a small ledge overhanging the lake, FP looked up. The moon had emerged from the dark sky and was hanging directly overhead, blazing and huge in a way FP had never seen in his life. The clear, white moonlight that flooded over them lit their clearing as brightly as day. 

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Fred breathed. “It’s so bright, right above us.” 

FP looked around - the quiet trees, the stark cliff face, the cold water. He was suddenly struck by how alone they were - how far he was from his father, his trailer, his town, his football career, his own name and being, the names and words that had followed him since he was born. It was him and Fred. The two of them alone and this whole world, which suddenly seemed impossible vast, larger than anything he’d ever known before. 

He turned away, his back to Fred, suddenly aware that he was going to cry. It bothered him less than it should have - oddly, he could breathe just fine as he felt tears spill down his cheeks. He stood with the moonlight pouring over his head, the trees rustling together ahead of him in gentle affirmation, breathing in the sweet taste of the air even as he cried openly. 

“FP?” Fred touched his back tentatively when FP had stood in silence for several moments. “You okay?” 

FP nodded wordlessly, wiping his face though he knew there was no hiding the truth in this moonlight. Fred was staring at his tears with round, gentle eyes, surprised and worried, but he didn’t speak. Only waited patiently with his fingers folded over the sleeve of FP’s hoodie, his face taking on an ethereal quality in the light of the moon. 

“I’m okay,” FP said at last, letting Fred lead him back to where they’d left their drinks. He sat down on the rock and pulled his knees up to his chest. Tears were flowing freely down his cheeks - he couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried so unselfconsciously. He sniffed and brushed his hand ineffectively over his face. “It’s just-” His throat was full and tight, the magnitude of emotion too dense to even begin to unspool into language. When he spoke it was without a trace of irony. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” 

Fred was still staring at him. FP could feel his gaze on the side of his face, as strong as the light of the moon. The first prickle of embarrassment moved in, and FP dropped his gaze to his lap before a movement from Fred’s hand stopped him. 

“Second for me,” said Fred softly, and gently laid a hand against FP’s jaw, turning his head towards him until their mouths met in a kiss. It was cool and gentle, Fred’s forehead pressed to his, his nose sliding over FP’s cheek and his lips soft and giving. FP felt a long shiver travel the length of his body, starting in that place where Fred’s fingertips were pressed to the pulse in his jaw, ending somewhere near his feet. He pulled back with a wet gasp that was half laughter, half surprise. 

“Are you okay?” Fred’s voice was warm and sincere, though a note of apology had crept in. “I’m so sorry, you’re crying and I’m pulling a move-” 

“No-” FP did laugh now, wetly, not knowing where this unfiltered outpouring of emotion was coming from - he couldn’t remember ever feeling so light when he laughed, never mind cried, so carefree and safe. He grabbed Fred’s face and pressed it back against his own, ignoring the tears that were still spilling down his cheeks as though they belonged to someone else. 

“Do it again. Do it again.” 

The kiss was clumsier this time, their noses bumping, but Fred’s hand moved up to cradle his head and stroke softly through his hair, and the deliberate movement in that gesture was all he could feel. He’d never felt so light as he did in the moonlight, as though the light had taken hold of his body. They were as exposed as if a spotlight had poured down on them, but in the empty silence of the lake, there was no one around to see. There was nothing to fear. 

Fred gently pulled FP down on top of him so that they were laying on the flat plane of stone, bathed white from the light of the moon. The ripples caused by the water were the only sound aside from their breath as they kissed, Fred’s lips crushing his as though devouring him, sweet and hungry. FP glanced back up at the sky as Fred rolled them over so that he was on top and cried out at once. 

“Fred, look!” 

His shout echoed out across the flat rocks, swallowed by the hugeness of the lake. Fred glanced over his shoulder at the enormous scattering of stars that had emerged above the indigo sky and shook his head. “Second most,” he repeated, turning his head back to the kisses he was peppering against FP’s jaw. 

“Fred-” FP gasped, shoving him off. He tilted his head back until it smashed into the rock beneath them, disoriented by the millions of pinpricks of light that had blossomed out of the dark. Fred rolled off of him so that they were lying side by side, their hands laying inches from each other on the stone. There was a note of regret in his voice as he turned his gaze heavenward, though he was smiling. 

“If those clouds hadn’t moved in we could see more.” 

“More?” FP repeated, frozen in place. “I’ve never seen them like this. Never. You’re telling me there’s more?” 

Fred’s head fell to one side. FP could feel him looking at him for a long moment, but he was too afraid to tear his eyes away from the stars, in case they vanished. The sky wasn’t just indigo any longer - it was so many different shades of darkness stacked on top of one another. In front of it all, there were whirlpools and great, spilled scatterings of stars, enough that his eyes went fuzzy trying to follow them all. A collection of stars in the shape of a scoop leapt out at him, bright as diamonds. He pointed. 

“Is that-?” 

“Little dipper.” Fred moved FP’s hand. “Big one’s right there.” 

For several moments they pointed out all the constellations they could recognize, their hands finally landing back at their sides, inches apart on the rock. Fred glanced at FP - FP saw the flash of his wide brown eyes in his periphery - and FP felt the tickle of Fred’s fingers probing tentatively at his wrist. 

“Can I?” Fred breathed, and FP nodded, their hands moving slowly in line so that their fingers could grip at one another, finally pressing palm-to-palm. They lay quietly below the endless stars holding hands, and FP felt an otherworldly calmness settle into his being as he stared hungrily at the night sky. He thought at first that he would never tear his eyes away from it, but finally, he rolled over so that he was holding himself above Fred, looking down at him. He could feel cool night air hit tear-tracks on his cheeks, but the endless crying seemed to have run dry from the incomprehensible well inside him that had made him brave enough to be vulnerable. 

Fred smiled beautifully up at him, his eyes crinkling at the corners, his hair spread out on the rock below him. “Seen enough?” he teased, reaching up to cradle FP’s face. 

FP lowered his mouth to Fred’s in a kiss. “For now.” 

Fred’s hands caught his cheeks and kissed him deeply. It was strong and soft, his thumbs pressing against the wet skin of FP’s cheeks and brushing the tear tracks away. It was the most protected FP had ever felt while kissing his friend - even exposed and wide open in the middle of vast nowhere, with nothing but their summer clothes between their bodies. There was no tickle of shame or worry to intrude on the sensation of Fred’s body against his, Fred’s tongue and lips and teeth and the brush of his eyelashes. They kissed until FP yawned abruptly, and Fred laughed into his mouth. 

“You tired?” He sat up slightly against the rock. “We can hit the hay. We’ve got three days out here.” His eyes moved to the tent and then back to FP, but there was no implication in them. Even out here, Fred was always the gentleman. 

But FP was feeling brave tonight. 

“Or?” FP asked playfully, nudging his fingers against Fred’s thigh. Fred smiled uncertainly. 

“We can go to the tent and… not sleep?” 

“Right on,” said FP, and from some unexpected impulse he couldn’t describe, leaned forward and kissed Fred on the tip of his sun-freckled nose. Fred’s face scrunched into a smile of pure happiness. 

“Come on,” he said, smiling, and got to his feet, pulling FP by their still-entwined hands until they were standing. Then he led him carefully down the trail towards their tent, the water still lapping lightly at the rocks below, the forest behind them alive with the quiet stirrings and owl song of night. 


End file.
